Charly Scott (age 17)

California, U.S.

In my photograph I wanted to capture the exact feeling I experienced when I began to stray from and question what I was used to. Religion has a big impact on me, yet it is one of the most confusing aspects of my life. I think many other teens can relate to this feeling of hopelessness, questioning the unknown, especially if they live in a religious household. The older we get the more we begin to question what has been taught to us and ingrained into our heads since adolescence. Especially now with the current events happening in the world you begin to wonder, Is someone watching me up there? Can they see all this suffering? But most of all, can anyone up there help me. Is there an anyone or anything at all? This photograph reflects the yearning I have felt for an answer or a sign. I understand this may be controversial to some, but this is what life is like for a teen now. We are given all this knowledge and yet we feel so out of touch with the world and everything we believe in. Every time I look at this rosary I feel a sense of guilt for not being as devoted as most, but there is nothing wrong with questioning the things around us. Questioning life, morals, beliefs, and science is what has made us advance as a species.

Mercer Weis (age 17)

California, U.S.

San Francisco, one of California's largest and busiest cities, is home to one of the most extraordinary landmarks in history: The Golden Gate Bridge. The Golden Gate Bridge, standing at a height of a staggering 227 meters and spanning 1.7 miles across the beautiful San Francisco Bay, connects the big city of San Francisco and the mountainous Marin County. For almost ninety years, the Golden Gate Bridge has offered the public a convenient, effective, and trustworthy form of transportation. After surviving a massive earthquake and human gridlock, the bridge still stands as one of the world’s largest bridges. Thousands of construction workers and materials built the bridge. One construction piece, the rivet, played a small but vital part in the formation and development of the Golden Gate Bridge. The artifact I have photographed is one of the 600,000 rivets installed in the Golden Gate Bridge when it was first built.

I am lucky enough to have a personal connection with the famous Golden Gate Bridge. My great-grandfather, Edwin Fraser, served as a President on the Golden Gate Bridge Board. He represented Del Norte County on a Board of forty-two other presidents. Before his appearance on the Board of Presidents, my great-grandfather was elected by the majority in his district to represent them in this stunning feat of bridge building. On January 23, 1929, my great-grandfather, along with the other presidents and top bridge engineer firms in the country, met for the first time to draft their management plans for the next four years. My great-grandfather voted on the bridge act, a three-cent tax paid by taxpayers, and many other provisions proposed by geologists, engineers, and fellow board members. The Golden Gate Bridge Board of Directors and Presidents earned a $35 million grant to build the Golden Gate Bridge. After four years of hard and challenging work, the first day of construction for the Golden Gate Bridge finally came on January 5, 1933. During the next four years, my great-grandfather collaborated with his fellow members to set goals for his workers to create the Golden Gate Bridge.

Finally, on May 27, 1937, the Golden Gate Bridge opened to the public. As a token of my great-grandfather’s success, he was given a small red rivet, a replica of the ones used in the Golden Great Bridge, to take home. This artifact has made its way down to me, his great-grandson. I have the honor of keeping this meaningful artifact with my immediate family, and hopefully, will pass it down to the next generation. Although this rivet itself is not a part of the Golden Gate Bridge, it represents the bridge’s purpose. The rivet is a symbol of a bridge that provides transportation to 112,000 vehicles and 27,000 tourists a day. The rivets themselves make up the bridge’s skeleton, one of the most critical structures in the bridge. The rivet embodies the innovative nature of the bridge and its technological breakthroughs at the time. Without these rivets, people would not have a convenient form of transportation today in a city bustling with traffic. It brings people together in one grand location to look out onto the San Francisco Bay. The message behind this rivet expresses the true purpose of an artifact. It is a symbol of one of our greatest achievements for the well-being of mankind.

Maya Hernandez (age 16)

Florida, U.S.

“Do we treat the earth as if ki is our relative—as if the earth were animated by being—with reciprocity and reverence, or as stuff that we may treat with or without respect, as we choose?”— Robin Wall Kimmerer

Mirrors reflect the truth, the truest version of yourself. This plain chair set upon the neatly trimmed grass with a slight border of fencing is where we supposedly belong. To sit in that chair is to become the you everyone else knows. However, mirrors reflect the truth. On the inside, we are all more akin to the sprawling trees depicted here. This photograph represents the outsider looking in. We see the chair reserved for us within the parameters of the mirror. The twining, sprawling, wild branches of misdirection, and within that, the smallest glimpse of the truth: a grim face that almost blends in with the surroundings. With the trees. With nature. Our natural state.

Ella Andersen (age 14)

California, U.S.

Artifacts in our everyday lives connect those we love and bring us together. I photographed "My Friend Flicka" by Mary O'Hara. This book was given to my great-grandfather, Victor, and it was given to him by his late sister Gloria in 1943. This copy was published in 1941, making it 79 years old. It sat on my papa's shelf above his bed for many years and now it sits on mine. The book has been passed down for two generations and I hope to continue this trend. This book is very special to me and my family. It shows us an aspect of my papa's family that we didn't know; he and Gloria had a great love for the country and horses. Gloria wrote to him the following words on the first page of this book: "To Vic, with the hope that one day his wish to own a horse will come true. May it be soon." These words from Gloria were one of the last things she said to my papa. Though my papa has passed, this book will forever remain significant in my life. It contains joyful memories and hope. One day, I hope to pass this very special book down to another generation.

Xiaolong Zhao (age 19)

Baotou, Mongolia

The objects in the picture are called the Four Treasures of the Study. They are brushes, inkstones, paperweights, and Xuan paper. On the right of the photograph, one brush is made of wolf hair and the other is made of wool. They have different nib hardnesses because they have different functions. On the top of the picture is the inkstone decorated by a carved dragon and a Chinese scroll, which symbolizes majesty. The inkstone is a special stone, and its function is to hold the ink stick that will be ground and mixed with water to make liquid ink, which will be transferred to the right container. On the left of the picture are two paperweights, and the pattern on them is bamboo from the Three Friends of Winter. These two heavier stones are responsible for keeping the paper flat. In the middle is Xuan paper, a specially crafted calligraphy paper. The word written on the paper is 福（blessing)—this Chinese character symbolizes peace and happiness. My mother and I like to use these tools to practice calligraphy. In the picture, I am writing calligraphy. My mother taught me calligraphy when I was very young. For my family, calligraphy not only represents a skill; it also cultivates one's mind and temperament. Because of my studies, I do not have time to study calligraphy systematically. Whenever I have free time, I always like to open the window and let the sunshine and breeze sprinkle onto the desk in the warm afternoon air. I like to feel the roughness of the ink particles and the smoothness of the Xuan paper, and forget all the worries in life to make my artwork.

I have always been curious about the evolution of other scripts, such as the ancient Greek alphabet, Egyptian hieroglyphs, cuneiform, and Indus Scripts. Unfortunately, these scripts and their cultures have all fallen into the long river of history. These characters are like mysterious codes waiting for humans to crack. There is only a little connection between them and the modern scripts, and their vitality is like a flame from a burned out candle. At this time, I feel the greatness of Chinese characters more and more. This is the only living ancient writing system with its own unique writing methods and instruments. I feel very fortunate that my culture is not locked away in a museum. It is in the homes of ordinary Chinese people who love and are still writing calligraphy, a part of the Chinese culture. Whenever I hold a brush, I feel I am connected to history. Whether it is ancient poetry or novels, ancient military orders or edicts, they were all written with the tools in my hand and the characters I use. How romantic is this! It's like passing the Olympic flame. Every Chinese dynasty, every Chinese emperor, and every ordinary person will pass the Chinese culture from generation to generation. The fire of the times burns traces of the old dynasty, but they cannot burn away all the traces of culture. This is not only a miracle for the Chinese people but also a miracle for humanity. Today, Chinese traditional culture has met with modern development. Calligraphy has a new life, and people don't need to commemorate it because it still exists.

Gemma Rossi (age 14)

California, U.S.

For Italians, pasta is a crucial part of daily life. Not only is it a staple of the Italian diet, but the craft of making pasta is passed down from generation to generation. From a pile of flour and an egg, traditional Italian women knead the dough with their hands into the tagliatelle con raggù that my father grew up eating every day in his home on the Adriatic coast. The artifact is not the pasta, but what is used to make the pasta. A tagliere (tale-YAY-ray), a large wooden board, is the surface on which pasta dough is kneaded and rolled out with a mattarello (Mat-TA-rel-lo), or rolling pin. Kept in every Italian family’s household, they are either used daily for traditional pasta or used for making pasta on special occasions. Our tagliere and mattarello are not passed down relics. They were a wedding gift made by Luciano Drudi, the old woodworker who lived across the street from my father’s childhood home in Borella. I will now inherit the tagliere and mattarello so I can make pasta just like my babbo taught me. The pasta will then be eaten by family and friends and will disappear as the night goes on. Italians end the night with liquirizia and gelato. Who doesn’t feel the connection created by good food?

Iñaki Ramos (age 15)

Mexico City, Mexico

Paseo de la Reforma

Coming from a city with more than 8.8 million people makes it hard to see our planet as home. The streets are filled with trash, people are scared of each other, and the community is not safe. Every time you go outside you can only hear car horns and people cursing at each other. My passion for photography tries to show how any part of our planet is a beautiful place. Since we have been on lockdown, the streets of Mexico have been empty. I decided to go out and take pictures from the busiest avenue in Mexico City. Not seeing any cars was amazing. I have passed through that avenue more than a thousand times in my life, and this was the first time I realized that there is a jacaranda tree in the middle of plenty of green trees. I was so amazed that I stood in the middle of the street for more than twenty minutes taking pictures. I hope that with this photo, people can realize how colorful the streets are in Mexico and how at the end of the day, these are not only streets but our home.

The film Earthrise made me realize that from another point of view, humanity is insignificant compared to the planet Earth. I wanted to take a picture showing humanity’s connection to nature.

This avenue is an important place for me because I have experienced many stages of my life there. It is also important for millions of Mexicans because this avenue, Paseo de la Reforma, is the largest avenue in Mexico City. It helps you get from any place across the city and normally it is traversed by millions of people in their cars. People don't appreciate how it is connected to nature. I would like Paseo de la Reforma to be remembered by the world as the avenue of life because of its connection to trees, human-made bodies of water, museums, a zoo, and a castle. You can truly see human progress through this avenue.

Riya Garg (age 17)

Florida, U.S.

This artifact, a special candle and flowers placed on a tray, is part of a ritual in my culture called Arti. The goal of Arti is to cleanse the air of any darkness and to give thanks to our gods. The candle, called a deepak, is lit and placed in the middle of the tray, representing the deity’s power. While everyone sings a song to praise the deity, the tray circles around the figure of our deity. It passes through each family so everyone can give their respects. One cups one’s hand over the flame and brings it to the forehead, and passes the blessing of the god to each person. The deepak is special in this time of year because of the holiday Diwali, the festival of lights, where we light deepaks and place them all over our house, representing purity in the home. Usually on Diwali a huge celebration occurs, where you can see deepaks everywhere since it's the main symbol of Diwali. I captured this photograph during Arti when my parents were doing a ritual with the priest to give blessings and ensure good luck.

Ian Rosenzweig (age 14)

Pennsylvania, U.S.

My artifact is an extremely important piece of my family’s history in America and a representation of the values we hold closely. It is a book entitled Seder Avodah for Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. This translates from Hebrew to “Order of Service for Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.” Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur are the Jewish New Year and Jewish Day of Repentance. They are the two most important holidays of the Jewish year and are referred to as the High Holy Days. This specific prayer book was passed down to my mother from her parents. It was written in 1960 by Rabbi Max D. Klein of Adath Jeshurun Synagogue (known as AJ), which was in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. It is now in Elkins Park, Pennsylvania. Congregants brought the book with them to the services.

Today, most synagogues provide prayer books. The book belonged to my great-grandmother, Bella Zemble. AJ was the congregation my great-grandparents’ belonged to. Their three sons (including my grandfather) had their Bar Mitzvahs (Jewish Right of Passage ceremonies) there, my mother had her Bat Mitzvah there, and my parents were married there. AJ is a strong piece of our family’s history. Using this book was a joyous aspect of the difficult holiday services we endured in the pandemic environment. It allowed us to pray and participate in our service without squinting at the computer screen for hours on end, and it helped us to link our heritage, which felt particularly important this year since we had to socially distance from our relatives with whom we usually celebrate the holidays. The machzor brought up memories for all of us. It made us recall past, happier High Holy Days when we were able to pray in the synagogue with our community and be with our family, which were both missing elements from the online service. My mom thought about her grandmother who passed away when she was twelve years old.

My sister and I learned about our family’s history. We knew about the importance of Adath Jeshurun to our family and that my grandparents are still congregants at AJ, but there was so much more wrapped up in that little book. We learned about what a service day looked like for our great-grandparents and grandparents. We learned about my great-grandparents' untimely deaths within a year of each other. We learned about a synagogue that held so much importance in our family’s past, including memories of all life cycle events. But most importantly, I discovered a piece of my family that was buried deeply beneath the stories of family history that I typically hear: the stories of the Holocaust and the countless family members lost and the anti-Semitism that stripped my family of equal opportunity in Europe and in America. This book initiated discussions of happier times and I learned positive stories about the continuity of this synagogue and this book within my family. I learned about my family, their synagogue and the prayer book that was issued to them 60 years ago which is used on the exact days of the Jewish calendar that I use them on, forming a connection between myself and my great-grandparents. All these connections took place through an artifact that had no monetary value, but was treasured because it signified the ability to pray and live as Jews in a free country. It not only allowed us to experience feelings that we are meant to feel on our High Holy Days, but also express feelings passed down to us through my great-grandmother’s Seder Avodah, her prayer book.

Naomi Delkamiller (age 17)

Nebraska, U.S.

I have been a student during a pandemic for six months now and have yet to find a routine. Sure, I have a virtual school schedule, a file of Zoom links, and a desk in my room, but I thought this universal change in education deserves a bigger picture. I placed my camera on the roof of my home over the summer and used a remote timer to capture myself in the grass below, blankly staring at a screen that seemed to glow on forever. Sitting behind a Zoom screen is my artifact, my frozen moment, an external expression of my internal confession: I miss connection. This photo represents a time where I missed putting on my red sneakers every day and acts as a reminder of how much I crave to learn. This photo is a reflection of how much life has seemed to shrink. It is a living memory that is shared beyond me. This moment in time is an artifact that was not passed down to me or welcomed with open arms. It is a period of time that is mine as much as it is yours. We have all lost something. For most of us, we lost the everyday connection that writes the story of our lives. I hope that someday this artifact will change into a new picture—one of community, in-person learning, and more.

Macey Aven (age 16)

Florida, U.S.

I photographed a statue of the Virgin Mary, an important figure in my religion and in my childhood. I took this photograph at St. Mark's Church, where I was baptized and received my communion. My great-grandparents were devout Christians from Italy who brought their religious customs to the United States. Growing up, I spent much of my time at the church or around those with a Christian influence. I wanted to share the beauty that I saw myself in these familiar statues and buildings.

María Fernanda Ortega Cuevas (age 18)

Mexico City, Mexico

To me, food means family. As a Mexican, I can tell you that food is union and caring. Food is how you demonstrate love. My passion for photography aims to show how one can find beauty even in the most ordinary places or objects. Almost every Mexican household in central Mexico owns most of the objects portrayed and uses or consumes them on a daily basis. The only element that might not be in every Mexican home are churros. They symbolize the importance of food in our culture and all the sweet and comforting memories that pan dulce (sweet bread) brings to every Mexican. I remember that as a child, one of the best things about the weekend was when we would go to Coyoacán, a historically rich neighborhood in Mexico City, where I would have breakfast with my family and walk around to visit beautifully vivid and colorful sites. The most awaited moment of the day was when we would go to our favorite churrería (churro shop) and buy a few while drinking hot chocolate.

The cempasúchil flowers and the candle represent our most internationally recognized festivity, The Day of the Dead, which has a beautiful and culturally rich historical meaning throughout Mexico. On a personal level, it has a very deep and profound significance. I believe this holiday makes people appreciate and realize how beautiful life is, not only because of the feelings, people, and experiences it brings us but how fragile and temporary all of it is. Yet, nothing makes us feel more alive and loved than sitting around a table with friends and family, basking in the sweet yet deep aroma of warm hot chocolate, while tasting the divine sweetness of a sugary-sweet churro. It does not end there though. The texture of a handmade plate with its cold to-the-touch ceramic slickness and a gently lit candle flame with the scent of serene lavender lights the dimly lit night sky filled with stars and cool wind. This lights the senses of everyone present and makes every moment of one’s encounter with this tradition even more memorable.

Andrea Trejo (age 18)

Metepec, Mexico

La nervadura de una hoja, líneas paralelas o sin rumbo que sobresalen de su piel, se encarga de circular la savia y conectar cada rincón de la planta. Mis venas, caminos sin fin alguno por los cuales circula mi sangre, desde el corazón hasta la punta de mis dedos. Tú y yo no somos tan diferentes, nos unen líneas interminables, por lo que cuando intento escucharte lo hago como si tú fueras yo, se que un rayito de sol en la mañana te da energía para seguir todo el día y que escuchar una melodía te hace bailar, lo sé porque esas cosas hacen que se acelere mi corazón y que siga fluyendo por mis venas aquello que me mantiene con vida, y así como funciono yo, lo haces tú.

La única diferencia es que yo dependo de ti, pero tú no de mi.

The leaf rib, parallel lines with no guide to follow that bulge from its skin, is in charge of circulating the sap connecting every corner of the plant. My veins, paths with no ends that fulfill their function by taking the blood from my heart to the tip of my fingers. You and I, we are not so different at all, we are connected by unending lines. When I try to listen to you, I have in mind that you are me. I know that a sunbeam every morning gives you enough energy until the day ends and that listening to music makes you dance. I know this because these things make my heartbeat go faster and keep me alive, flowing in my veins. Just the way my body works, so does yours.

Our difference is that you can live without me, but I cannot live without you.

Makenna Hartwick (age 15)

Hawaii, U.S.

History on the Family Table

This artifact is a Sankyo music box that dates back to the 1960s, possibly even the 1950s. Made in Japan, it has been passed down through my maternal family, starting with my great-grandma. She gave it to my mother, who had it since childhood and traveled across the country with it. It was then given to my older sister who gave it to me. I conducted research for several hours to find exactly when it was made and if there are others like it, but have found no answers. When wound up, the music box plays a delightful tune which brings me joy and causes me to think of the others who have listened to it before me.

Music is the only language that connects the whole Earth. It brings people together to dance, sing, have special moments, and make memories no matter what part of the world you are in. Each culture has its own unique style of music, but it is ultimately the joy of sound that unites us all. Not only is my artifact important to me, but the image in and of itself is one that I cherish.

The table that this box stands on was built in 2012 by my father and me. It has lasted through many years of tears, arguments, dinner parties, craft activities, and family meals. Every day, my family comes together to eat dinner on this table with no phones, just real human connection. We talk about our days, our frustrations, and share genuine time together no matter how tired we are. I feel as though many people today lack human connection and could use a family dinner every once in a while. Although you can’t hear its little song, it still brings me joy. My music box is already tarnished with age and history, and in a few more decades, it may be broken and thrown away by its new owner. Despite that, this picture allows it to live on forever, a magnificent piece frozen in time.

Kilian Schoenenberger (age 18)

Burgdorf, Switzerland

Generations

After the passing of my Grandmother and Grandfather this year, I decided to document what they had left behind, the spaces they used to live in, and their environment. One image of the series particularly stood out because of its symbolic depth and connection to me, my family, time, and the essence of life.

In this image, there are printed portraits of family relatives propped up on an antique piece of furniture in my Grandmother’s old living room. She used to light the candle in the front left corner in memory of the people she had lost. The large clock is deeply ingrained in my childhood memories. I remember the times when my Grandmother and I would excitedly wait for the hour to strike.

She, Rosmarie, had lived in this small apartment for decades along with the large pendulum clock ticking away the time of her life, her husband's life, and the people she knew. For a long time, she wasn’t among the ones who had passed away, but now her photo fits in this category. In her picture (in the middle) which she had placed there by herself, she’s holding the next generation, her great-grandson. To the left is her beloved and lifetime partner and husband, and her son, who had passed away before she died from severe cancer. To the right are her sister and husband again. As one of her relatives, I can be seen reflected in the pendulum. My time is ticking as well. And so, the cycle continues. With this photograph, I hoped to portray how we are all connected in families, in life, and in death. This place will stay in my memory as a place of peace, happiness, openness, and love. View more of Kilian's work on his website.

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